


Three Years, Give or Take

by Quillium



Category: One Piece
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 22:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15082628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: "Where are you from?" The crew asks, bustling around Ace as he eats his breakfast. Banana waffles and a side of fruit."The future," He cracks a grin at them, and they sigh before moving away again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is no such thing as too many time travel fics.

Portgas D. Ace, they all realize quite soon, is a _weird_ kid.

First, he starts off by challenging Oyaji to a fight. That's totally normal. Honestly, they're used to it by now, though they're usually so laughably weak that it's funny.

But this kid, he appears out of nowhere (East Blue, the whispers say, but nobody really knows for sure), with a devil fruit and Haki, causing such a ruckus and making a general nuisance of himself that it becomes commonplace to see him in the papers.

"He's a cute kid," Shanks chuckled when Whitebeard talks about him. "Really polite, too. I think you'd like him."

Oyaji laughs, and then the challenge comes.

Jinbe goes to investigate, and so do the rest of the pirates.

"You wish to attack me?" Whitebeard asks, amused as he sticks his bisento in the ground.

Portgas stares at him with a wide smile, before laughing and sitting down. "Nah," he shrugs, "Just wanted to see you in person, was all. Didn't really know any other way to do it, though, so..." He rubs the back of his neck, and his crew sighs.

"So straightforward..." One of them mutters.

"Doesn't even worry about angering Whitebeard..." Another agrees, shaking his head.

"That's our captain for you," they all say in unison. Utterly exasperated. Almost expecting it, though.

Whitebeard, it seems, is infinitely amused. "Want to join my crew?" He asks, cocking his head to the side and grinning.

Portgas cocks his head to the side. Hums. "You shouldn't invite people so easily," He raises an eyebrow, "What if I were an assassin or something?"

Whitebeard just laughs, "You won't hurt me."

"Not you, nah," Portgas agrees, adjusting his hat back on his head, "But you've got a lot of children."

Haki rolls through the air, and more than half of their crew drops.

Thatch narrows his eyes and pulls out his sword, and Portgas stares at Whitebeard, eyes dark, head still tilted. "Not that I would," he laughs, and the haki recedes. "You'd have to be a real idiot to do something like that."

Thatch frowns. For a second, strangely enough, he could almost feel something in the air, tinged with the haki... something dark, like that feeling he got whenever they faced off against Akainu, almost like...

"Everyone knows that those who harm my children will be killed," Whitebeard narrows his eyes. He can feel it, too. This kid, this reckless little rookie, is dangerous.

"What if they were willing to die for their cause?" Portgas takes off his hat. Rolls it around in his hands. Peers at it for a while, before turning to Thatch. His eyes bore into Thatch's and for a brief moment, something akin to regret washes over his face. A chill rolls through Thatch's spine. Is Portgas planning on killing _him_? "Or if someone had a devil fruit that could control someone like Do..." He cuts himself off and frowns at Whitebeard. "You assume that everyone prioritizes their own life over the death of another and that they are acting of their own free will. It's rather presumptuous if you ask me."

He pauses and then flashes them a quick grin.

"Ah, well, I've seen you now, so it's fine. Bye!"

Thatch stares incredulously. He can't be serious...

Portgas waves his arm in the air. "Adios. Farewell. Hasta la vista."

Another prominent pause.

"Why are you still here?" He grumbles, "I said my farewell and everything."

"That's not how it works," A member of his crew groans.

Thatch is torn between amusement and worrying that Portgas is another psycho that's going to give pirates a bad name.

Portgas pouts, "Then how _does_ it work?" He demands.

Whitebeard's eyes flicker, and Thatch can tell, he's _interested_.

* * *

"Where are you from?" The crew asks, bustling around Ace as he eats his breakfast. Banana waffles and a side of fruit.

"The future," He cracks a grin at them, and they sigh before moving away again.

 _He's private_ , the whispers say.

 _He doesn't talk much about himself_ , the whispers say.

 _He's strange_ , the whispers say.

"Where are you from?" Marco asks, dropping down across from Ace.

"The future," Prompt, ready response, like it's been conditioned into him.

Marco plays along, "How far into the future?"

"Three years, give or take some time in the afterlife." Ace squints at Marco, "You're first division commander, right?"

Marco starts. His promotion has been kept hush hush, under the wraps until next week when they'll publicly announce it. "No," he shakes his head.

Ace cocks his head to the side, "Then... you _will_ be?"

Marco stays silent, but he stares at Ace with more intensity from then on.

* * *

"What's with the tattoo?" Curiel asks, cocking his head to the side.

Ace shrugs. "One of my brothers died." He pauses and frowns. "Except he didn't. He wasn't there in the afterlife, it was really annoying. Turns out he kept living but with, like, amnesia or something. Stupid idiot tricked me, and I got a sentimental tattoo to show it."

One of the crew members pipes up, "But if he got amnesia, then it wasn't like he tricked you on purpose, right?"

Curiel is more worried about the fact that Ace said 'he wasn't there in the afterlife' than his weird logic.

"No way!" Ace scowls, crossing his arm over his chest, "But he'll remember me. Maybe if I get my name in the newspaper enough..." he chews on his lower lip and sighs, "Maybe he'll remember me."

It's a sad story, but... "Why don't you just go find him, then?" Curiel asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ace sighs, "He went and became a _revolutionary._ I can't find him yet."

"But you will?" Curiel leans forward, curious as to how Ace plans on finding his elusive brother.

"Well," Ace tips his hat back and grins, wide and sweet, "Now I've got you guys, yeah?"

Curiel starts. "But I thought that you said you weren't joining."

"Yeah, that's what I _said_ ," Ace scrunches up his nose, "But you guys want me to join, right? I've got to give in eventually."

He says it as though he doesn't want to, but he understands that it is something that's inevitable, like a force of nature. Curiel supposes that it's true, but that kind of wording, that idea, is something that belongs to older crew members, those who understand what it's like to be on the crew and what happens when they want a new family member.

Curiel hums thoughtfully, "I suppose that's true."

"I know," Ace's grin grows, "I'm usually right about these kinds of things."

"Well aren't you a cocky brat," Curiel digs his knuckles into the top of Ace's head and Ace ducks away, laughing.

He's a weird kid, Curiel thinks, but he's not bad.

* * *

"I'm Ace," Thatch is the first one that the new kid has sought out willingly, and the chef isn't sure if he should be flattered or concerned about his safety. (He still remembers those dark eyes on him, haki and killing intent rolling off of his shoulders like water off the rudder of the ship.

The kid looks pretty young at that moment, sitting on his heels on the chair and grinning at Thatch, lopsided and wide, freckles making him look far younger than he has any right to look.

"Thatch," Thatch answers cautiously, words slow coming from his lips like chocolate through syrup.

"Nice, nice," Ace hums, and Thatch gets the idea that those introductions were a mere formality, both already knowing who the other was, "Hey, Thatch, you strong?"

"I'd say that I'm decent," Thatch says, carefully keeping his voice light, flippant, "I mean, I _am_ a commander after all."

"Right, right," Ace cracks his neck to the side, and suddenly there's intent, a brush of haki light enough that Thatch believes Ace doesn't really know it's there, it appears subconsciously. "Could I beat you in a fight?"

Thatch's hairs _raise_. "Who knows?" He asks, shrugging as carelessly as he can bear.

"Hm," Ace purses his lips together looking displeased, and then he shakes his head, "That's no good! You're a commander! What if I was a threat and everyone else on the crew was out of commission? You have to be able to fight and win against any threats!"

"I'm not," Thatch blinks, startled. That was _not_ where he had expected this conversation to go. "I'm not the captain, it's not like I'm the strongest."

"But I'm not even a member of your crew!" Ace exclaims, jabbing his thumb against his chest, "What if I decided to try and assassinate you in your sleep, huh? You have to be able to fend me off!"

"Look, Ace," Thatch is beginning to get a little annoyed now, "Are you going to assassinate me?"

"No," Ace sulks, "But..."

"No buts!" Thatch throws his hands up in the air, "I'm just fine!"

"But..."

Thatch narrows his eyes, "No. Buts."

Ace pouts at him. "You need to get stronger," he declares.

Thatch groans.

Forget dangerous, the new kid is a pain in the _neck_.

* * *

"If I join your crew," Ace hums as he drapes himself over Whitebeard's shoulder, "Do I have to call you Oyaji?"

There's a forced lightness to Ace's voice, as though he already knows the answer but just wants to confirm for himself.

Whitebeard laughs, loud and amused, and says, "Of course not! My children call me what they wish to call me out of their own accord. If you do not wish to call me that, you can call me whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" Ace's eyes glittered.

Whitebeard nods.

"Mustache man!" Ace jumped off of Whitebeard's chair and flipped midair before landing dramatically on the ground. "That's what I'm going to call you from now on, okay? Mustache man!"

"What a cheeky brat!" Whitebeard rumbles, chest shaking with laughter.

Ace grins, "You said that I could call you anything! No take-backs!"

"Of course not," Whitebeard smiles fondly and reaches out to ruffle Ace's hair, "What should I call you, then?"

Ace makes a vague humming sound in the back of his throat, thinking about it, and then he smiles, "You already have a name for me!"

"I do?" Whitebeard raises his eyebrows, amused.

"Yeah!" Ace grins, " _Brat_!"

Whitebeard twitches, and then bursts into full blown laughter, "Is that what you want to be called by everyone?"

"Not _everyone_!" Ace pouts at Whitebeard, "But when you say it, it's okay, okay?"

What an odd kid. Strange logic, too. But Whitebeard concedes, "Okay, brat."

Ace beams, and Whitebeard wonders where an odd kid like this came from. When he asks, Ace grins at him, sharp toothed and wide, and says, "The future."

Whitebeard can almost believe it. "Brat," he says, instead.

* * *

When the newspaper comes in and Ace bounces onto Whitebeard's shoulder, Marco knows it must be something special. Ace rarely reads the newspaper, besides skimming over the wanted papers and huffing when he doesn't find anything of interest.

"Oyaji, oyaji, oyaji!" Ace barrels onto Whitebeard's shoulder and shoves a wanted paper in his hands, "Look, look! It's my little brother!"

"Oh?" Whitebeard raises an eyebrow as he looks over the paper. _Monkey D. Luffy_... hm.

Thatch leans over, flopping on Whitebeard's armrest, "Hey, Ace, is that the brother that you said became a Revolutionary?"

"Nah, that's my other one," Ace waves a hand flippantly, "Although Luffy's dad is a Revolutionary."

"His father..." Marco narrows his eyebrow, "Is his name Dragon, by chance?"

Ace shrugs, "I dunno. But he's, like, important or something, I think. I dunno, I wasn't really interested in that kinda stuff."

Marco and Whitebeard exchange glances. _Dragon_ , Marco mouths, and Whitebeard laughs. Ace is just full of surprises. "Do you want this little brother of yours to be recruited into our crew?" Whitebeard asks, amused.

Ace immediately wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, "My little brother's going to be the pirate king!" He says, "He can't join someone else's crew!"

"Ah," Thatch smiles a bit, "But don't you want Oyaji to be the Pirate King?"

Ace cocks his head to the side and furrows his eyebrows, "Why would I want that?"

Marco bites back a smile, "Because you're part of Oyaji's crew, Ace."

"Oh, right," Ace swings back and forth, "But Oyaji doesn't want to be Pirate King."

"Oh?" Whitebeard raises an eyebrow, "And how do you know that?"

Ace shrugs.

Whitebeard and Marco exchange glances and smile at each other again.

Ace, is, indeed, an enigma.

(But it seems like he's their's.)


	2. The Truth is Revealed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haruta groans and tips her head back. “Great. Thanks. I understand everything now.”
> 
> Ace blinks, surprised, “Really? Wow, that’s great! So I can go kill Teach now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote the first chapter, I was very much planning to keep vaguely traditional at least, y'know? Like, no reveal until the end or something. AND THEN THIS HAPPENED because apparently I can't even control my own writing.

The attack comes out of nowhere.

Thatch is moving before he’s fully aware, arm up as his hand blindly moves to find some weapon, any weapon, except the world is hot and bright and he’s being slammed back into his bed, fingers grappling at the hand around his throat, he moves his knee and smashes it against the arm holding him down but it doesn’t budge, just a grunt, and he can’t—

Then, suddenly, the pressure is gone, and Portgas D. Ace is sitting at the foot of his bed, dying embers of flame fading on his shoulders, black smoke swirling around him like he’s some demon from the underworld, eyes blazing as he says, almost accusatorially, “You said that you could handle it.”

Thatch stares.

Gasps for air a bit.

“What the _fuck_?” he demands.

“You said,” Ace says, steel and brimstone and fire in his voice, “That you could handle it. That it would be fine. That you were strong enough.”

He remembers their conversation at the beginning, hairs raising, and they do, now, everything about the boy in front of him screaming _dangerous_.

“Why did you do that?” Thatch demands, “Did you just try to kill me?”

Ace shakes his head. He looks unhappy, “Don’t you keep any weapons around you?”

Thatch shakes his head, “I don’t— I don’t _need to_. That’s the point. I’m on a ship full of brothers and—“

“And what if one of those brothers betrays you?” Ace demands sharply, cutting in. “What if one of those brothers decides to kill you in your sleep?”

Thatch stares. Narrows his eyes. “Look, kid,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “I don’t know what you’ve been through, what’s happened in the past. But the Whitebeards, we’re a family, okay? We trust each other. And I don’t see why you’re so caught up over me, specifically, anyway. Did you attack Marco, too? He’s promoted now, you know, first division commander and everything. Are you going to attack everyone or—”

“You have a duty,” Ace says quietly, “To protect your division.”

Thatch squirms.

“If you can’t even protect yourself,” Ace’s fingers blaze, golden sparks trailing up his arms, “How are you going to protect those important to you?”

Thatch sighs. Tips his head back. “I’ll be fine, kid.”

“You won’t,” Ace shakes his head, “Not if you stay like this.”

Thatch grounds his teeth, “Look, kid, I don’t know what you want me to say. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you, but I’m a division commander, I’m strong, and—“

“Strong enough to beat me?”

“I—what?”

“Strong enough to beat me?” Ace raises his chin, “Ten minutes to prepare, then we spar.”

“I—what?”

“I’ll be waiting in the mess hall.”

“I—wait! What time is it? It’s still dark out! I need to sleep—Ace? _Ace!_ ”

* * *

 

Marco is decidedly unimpressed.

“So you,” he jabs his fork at Ace, “didn’t think that Thatch was strong enough.”

Ace winces a bit.

“And so _then_ ,” Marco resists the urge to massage his temples, “You decided to fight him, to prove this?”

“It made sense,” Ace mumbles, like they had not caused a giant spectacle, as though he hadn’t thrown Thatch through three walls and subsequently bruised the majority of Thatch’s back to prove a stupid point that didn’t even need to be proved.

Marco grounds his teeth.

Tries to stay calm.

“ _Why_ ,” he asks.

“Thatch isn’t strong enough,” Ace plays with his fingers, like a guilty child who can’t look their caretaker in the face, “Maybe in a fair fight. Maybe in a straightforward one. Maybe when he’s got enough warning. But I ambushed him, this morning, and if I had wanted to kill him, I could have.”

“Do you want to kill him?” Marco demands.

“No,” Ace answers sulkily, like this is a question he has been asked before.

“Then why is this a problem?”

“What if someone _else_ wants to kill him?” Ace sets his jaw, “Then he could die super easily! He doesn’t have a devil fruit, he specializes in _weapons_ but he doesn’t keep them near him, it doesn’t make _sense_. He trusts everyone in this crew to have his back.”

“And you don’t think he should?”

“There are over 1500 people in this crew,” Ace meets Marco’s eyes, “Do you trust every one of them, to have your back no matter what? To be willing to give their lives for yours? To be loyal to you, to Oyaji, with their dying breath?”

It’s a battle, to keep his breath steady, to keep staring at Ace like he is assured of everything in the world, confident and at ease. “No,” Marco answers, quietly, honestly. “But I have been given no reason to distrust them.”

“It would be too late, then,” Ace shakes his head, chair scraping back as he stands, shoving his hands into his pockets, “You’re accepting. You have a big crew. And that’s great, it is. But there are setbacks to that. You don’t know every face, you don’t know every name, how can you know every man and every loyalty?”

“Ace,” Marco narrows his eyes, “Do you know of someone who might betray this crew?”

Ace stares at him. Tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure out Marco. Like he’s disassembling him, and putting him back together. “I joined the crew a few days ago,” He raises an eyebrow, “If I told you that someone you personally knew was a traitor, wouldn’t you attack me, thinking I was trying to break the crew apart?”

Marco’s stomach turns, “What are you trying to do?” he demands.

Ace scuffs the ground with his shoes. Closes his eyes and groans, loudly, “This would be so much easier if you were my Marco. You’d know. Or, even if you were from before…”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told you,” Ace’s eyes bore through Marco, “I’m from the future.” There is a beat, a moment of silence, and then Ace inclines his head. “I’m hungry. You going to come?”

Ace makes him uneasy.

Marco isn’t sure if, maybe he isn’t trying to turn him against the rest of the crew or something like that.

But sitting across from Ace as he’s cheerfully told about Ace’s little brother, heart heavy, he finds it hard to believe that.

So he’s left, here, unsure of what to do.

* * *

 

Ace finds him in the middle of the night, touch so soft that Whitebeard can barely make it out before he wakes, arm instinctively striking out and Ace ducking down as though he had known that it would come.

He wakes quickly after that, tilting his head to the side as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Ace mumbles, “Just… I don’t know. It’s stupid. Just a little scared.”

Worry flickers in his chest. “What’s wrong, son?” He asks quietly, patting the spot beside him.

“I know that it’s fine, it’s just,” Ace chews on his lower lip, “I ate Jozu’s ice cream by accident.”

Whitebeard snorts.

Jozu’s ice cream is famous for being both disgusting (it’s _raw horse flesh flavoured_ ) and untouchable (once Thatch ate it on a dare and Jozu sent him overboard for it).

“How’s your stomach feeling?” he asks.

“Fine,” Ace scrunches up his nose, “But I can still taste it in my mouth.”

Whitebeard hums, both amused and relieved that it wasn’t something more serious, “Who told you about Jozu’s ice cream?”

“You did,” Ace rests his head on Whitebeard’s arm, “in the future.”

It’s strange. Ace doesn’t have that cheeky, crooked grin he always has when he makes this joke. He’s quiet, solemn, and it doesn’t fit with him joking like this.

“Brat,” Whitebeard ruffles Ace’s hair, instead of addressing that topic, “Trying to keep your secrets?”

Ace closes his eyes against Whitebeard’s arm, “Mind if I stay here tonight?” he asks in lieu of answer.

“Of course,” Whitebeard says, knowing now that the question, perhaps, should have been what kept Ace up this late, eating half the crew’s ice cream.

(Oddly enough, when he asks around the next day, nobody knows who might have told Ace the story of Jozu’s ice cream. Hm. Well, a thought for another day.)

* * *

Portgas D. Ace, Haruta declares, slamming her hand onto the table, is a mystery that needed to be solved _yesterday_.

Marco, for once, doesn’t sigh loudly and disagree, instead opting to stay silent, brows furrowed, as though he’s trying to figure something out, which is why Namur follows suit and doesn’t immediately end this, even when Haruta raises idea after absurd idea and Jiru gets more and more caught in this ridiculousness, being gullible as he is.

Ace isn’t met with hostility, really, it’s difficult, with a personality like his, to dislike him, but he’s certainly met with suspicion, which his personality _also_ doesn’t really help.

Cue: Ace walking into their meeting, smiling brightly at the cork board and excitedly asking, “Ooh, am I the subject of a conspiracy theory?”

Namur fights the urge to face plant.

“Yes,” Haruta says, narrowing her eyes, “Plan to tell us what’s up?”

Ace grins, the edges of his eyes crinkling and teeth bared, “I’m from the future!”

Haruta groans and tips her head back. “Great. Thanks. I understand everything now.”

Ace blinks, surprised, “Really? Wow, that’s great! So I can go kill Teach now?”

Namur’s heart skips a beat. “What.”

“ _What_?” Marco demands, all but flying up, chair skittering behind him.

“Wait,” Thatch says, blinking, “No.”

Haruta stares in incredulous disbelief.

“No?” Ace tilts his head to the side, looking _confused_.

Why.

“But you said that you understood,” he says to Haruta, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, “Why can’t I?”

“Why can’t you kill one of our brothers?” Haruta demands, “Dude! That’s a no-no.”

Ace groans loudly, falls to the floor in a cross legged position, “I don’t get it,” he mumbles, “You said that you got it.”

And, ridiculously, absurdly, this makes sense.

“You’re from the future, you mean?” Namur asks.

Ace rolls his eyes, “ _Duh_.”

Marco glances at Namur, as if to say _what do we do_.

And Namur would say that Ace is crazy, except…

Except Ace asking when Marco’s going to become first division commander, before anyone else should have known.

Except Ace knowing one of Izou’s favourite foods that nobody else knew, and requesting it specially for his birthday, which Izou liked to keep hush-hush and only celebrated with those close to him.

Except Ace quietly pointing out the flaws in one of their plans, and them narrowly avoiding what could have been a huge disaster in an attack.

Except.

Except.

Except.

So many exceptions.

And somehow it makes sense.

“Holy shit,” Namur mumbles, “Why do you want to kill Teach?”

“He kills Thatch,” Ace answers quickly, steadily, like it’s fact, and there’s no lie in his words, in his face or the beat of his heart.

“How?”

“Dagger.”

“When?”

Ace twists his lips to the side. Lowers his eyes, shrugs a bit, “I can’t remember. Days on the Grand Line—“ he flutters his fingers, “They melt together.”

They do. “Why?”

“A devil fruit.”

Namur leans back, “We would have given it to him if he’d just asked.”

“It’s the Yami no Mi. He wants to kill Oyaji.”

There’s something steady, calm, to those words, that makes Namur look up. Narrow his eyes.

“You can’t honestly believe this,” Izou says quietly from Namur’s side.

Namur glances at Izou.

Peers at Ace.

“How can you prove that what you’re saying is real?”

“I can’t,” Ace turns his head to the side, lifting a shoulder in a shrug. “But it’s true.”

“Diana,” Thatch says, suddenly.

Namur stares, “Who?”

“Diana, fourth division,” Marco says, like he’s rattling something off of a statistics report, “Has a fruit that forces someone to tell the truth.”

Ace brightens, “That’s so cool!”

What a weirdo.

* * *

 “If it makes you feel any better,” Ace says, sitting down next to Haruta, “You were alive, last I saw you.”

“But Oyaji died,” Haruta swipes angrily at her face. She doesn’t want to be crying right now. She hates this, has always preferred broken bones to tears.

“He won’t,” Ace answers.

Calm.

Certain.

Haruta wishes she could have that, right now, when the world feels like it’s tilting. “Teach is being interrogated.”

Ace inclines his head, the answer in his movement.

So he knows.

Haruta’s throat burns, a bit. “Spar with me?”

Ace swings his leg forward. Back. “You aren’t a fighter,” he says, sounding surprised.

“I’m a pirate,” Haruta answers, lifting her chin. “C’mon. You scared?”

A roguish grin lights Ace’s face, “No. Come at me.”

And she does, rapier light and steady in her hands, and Ace jumps, legs turning to flame even as she coats her blade with Haki, smoothly sliding away.

He jumps over railings and around people and he knocks things over and Ace fights dirty, but she likes it, and it calms her, the adrenaline of the run and the fight and the weirdo from the future who needs to stand still so she can _beat him already_.

“Can’t catch me!” Ace crows from where he’s crawled up on Oyaji’s shoulder.

“Cheater!” Haruta bellows, putting away her rapier to start climbing Oyaji’s legs, to reach Ace.

Oyaji laughs, and this is ridiculous, they’ve just found a traitor in their crew, they’ve been told the worst case scenario, and yet, somehow, there is something light in Haruta’s chest, and the world, imperfect as it may be, is perfect in this moment.

**Author's Note:**

> I have like a million One Piece fics on FF but I'm just too lazy to move them here...


End file.
